Taking Risks
by AnnabethLuna
Summary: Sort of a sequel to Reunion. Dudley is preparing to meet Harry for the first time since directly after the war, but he's nervous about what might happen. He receives some advice from an unexpected source! Dudley and Luna, but NOT romance!


**This is a little bit of a companion to Reunion. I just wanted Dudley to run into Luna at some point or another, and I thought she'd be good at giving him courage. Disclaimer: I don't own either of them. Just the situation.**

Dudley Dursley was pacing, walking back and forth over a section of sidewalk in front of the small, dilapidated pub. Clenched tightly in his hand was a crumpled scroll, and every now and then he would unfurl it and read it again to himself, lips moving silently.

_Dudley,_

_You mentioned that you wanted to keep in touch. So I'm taking you up on it. If you would like to, meet me on Thursday at noon for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. It's mostly invisible to Muggles, but you should be able to see it. Respond with this owl and let me know. Hoping to see you there._

_-Harry_

An address was scrawled beneath the note, and it was at this address that Dudley stood now, pacing. He could see the pub; that was encouragement, but he still wasn't sure.

He'd replied to the letter right away in the affirmative, but since then, he'd been rethinking. Sure, he'd seen Harry, and apologized, and been forgiven – he thought. But that had been on the spur of the moment, and Harry had just fought a long and exhausting battle. Maybe he wasn't thinking straight. And they'd been apart for a year – and Dudley had made Harry's entire life hell. The best-case scenario for this lunch meeting, Dudley figured, would be an uncomfortable meal spent in awkward silence avoiding eye contact. The worst? He didn't even want to think about that.

He smoothed out the letter – again – and re-read it. _Hoping to see you there._

"Should I really?" he muttered, frustrated with himself for being too cowardly to enter the restaurant – but too afraid to move a step beyond where he was still pacing.

"Yes."

He jumped about a foot in the air: the dreamy voice had come out of seemingly nowhere, and he hadn't seen anyone else around. Turning his head so fast that his neck cracked, he winced in pain, and suddenly his eyes landed on a slight figure a few paces away. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Were you talking to me?"

She approached, and he got a better look at her. She was tall, for a girl, in any case, but slim. More than slim – she looked like Harry had looked when Dudley had last seen him. Skinny, malnourished, her pale eyes huge in her too-thin face. Her blond hair was long and unkempt, straggling down her back. But her voice was completely calm as she replied.

"Yes," she said simply. "You sounded like you were doubting yourself. Like there was a risk you didn't want to take. But usually it's worth it to take risks. I wanted to tell you not to be afraid."

He stared at her.

She returned the gaze, untroubled. Her clear eyes moved across his face, as though she was sizing him up. He felt uncomfortable under her piercing stare and avoided her eyes.

He had just opened his mouth to say something when she spoke again. "Excuse me for asking," she said politely, "but are you related to Harry Potter?"

He supposed he shouldn't be so shocked that she was a witch. First of all, she was standing here in this mostly-abandoned alley, in front of a pub that only witches, wizards, and informed Muggles could see. Secondly, she did have that same look, as though she'd been through a war. Thirdly, as though it hadn't been there until he'd known that she was a witch, he could make out a bit of wood sticking out in front of her left ear – a wand. Though he'd never heard of anyone carrying a wand behind their ear, it was definitely a wand. She was definitely part of Harry's world. It surprised him a little bit, but it didn't shock him.

What did make his jaw drop, though, was that she'd asked if he was _related_ to Harry. Which meant that she either knew Harry personally, had heard that his cousin was coming, and was an astoundingly good guesser, or that she could read minds. Because even Dudley – who had looked at himself and his cousin for the last sixteen years – had seen no family resemblance between himself and Harry.

"Yes," he managed to stammer. "But . . . how'd you know?"

She stepped a little closer to him, then reached up a hand and touched his face. He froze in shock, but she was only tracing. "There's something here," she murmured, ". . . maybe it's the nose, or the shape of the eyes . . ." Her finger ran along his cheekbones . . . "that I've never seen on anyone but Harry." Abruptly, she dropped her hand and stepped back. "Your eyebrows, too," she added conversationally.

"He's – he's my cousin," stuttered Dudley. Unbidden, his hand returned to his pocket, where the scroll rested. "I was supposed to meet him here today, but I . . . I just wasn't sure . . ."

And then the whole story spilled out. About his mother, his father, his family. About being allowed, even encouraged, to bully Harry, because he was different, wrong, a _freak._ About Harry saving his life – or, his soul, anyway – and realizing that he was the one who was wrong. Realizing that his cousin was a better person than he could ever be.

About apologizing, and being forgiven, but feeling as though that couldn't be the end. As though he deserved something worse, and being afraid that they wouldn't ever be able to mend their relationship.

When he finally finished talking, he felt as though something had been drawn out of him, as though some poison was now gone from his mind and heart. He felt lighter, happier, more whole. And even . . . braver.

She looked at him for a moment, didn't say anything. Her eyes were wide, open, soulful. As though she had absorbed everything that he had to tell, and she wasn't judging him for it.

"Harry's a remarkably forgiving person," she said finally. Reaching out, she laid a hand on his arm. "I think you're judging yourself too harshly."

She turned away; a figure had come out of the pub and was waving to her. "I have to go," she told him. "But you're better than you think. You might be surprised."

As she turned around and walked away, toward the person who had emerged, Dudley realized he hadn't even learned her name. He watched her link arms with whoever it was, watched him kiss her forehead, and watched the two of them walk away together. He thought of the first words she had said to him.

_Usually it's worth it to take risks._

She was right, he decided.

So he set his jaw, and walked towards the pub.

And he didn't turn around.


End file.
